


glued fragments

by WingsOfTime



Series: ikael [18]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Brief description of violence, Gen, Sort Of, Unreliable Narrator, more talking on beds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 08:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16573223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingsOfTime/pseuds/WingsOfTime
Summary: To sold glass together. Eventually, it will fuse.Eventually.(set after "scraping the bowl")





	glued fragments

**Author's Note:**

> this one's a bit short, but i thought it necessary to put in the series as opposed to the drabbles. set after my fic 'scraping the bowl,' but before 3.5 . highly suggested you read that first if you want a more in-depth look at this :0

Wind, as Thancred has known it for these past moons, is a sharp, biting thing. Once upon a time he might have said it is soft, wistful, might have perhaps poetically compared it to a lover’s kiss, at his most romantic ego. But now he just knows it a cold hunter, unrelenting and unremorseful. Slow to kill but long to suffer.

He is being a bit dramatic, perhaps. But, fairly, it is one of his lighter thoughts as of late. _The wind is cold_ is better than _I am starving and freezing and dying_ , and _it feels good to kill something with a real weapon again._

Not that those thoughts would be ill at home in a place such as Ishgard. Once again, he finds himself wondering how Ikael can possibly _like_ this city. It is full of thieves, and liars, and lords who would rather see the poor die on the doorsteps of their House than let them in. Thancred feels his lip curl up in disgust at the thought. He has no love for the barbarously proud elite. Nor for the desperate ruffians who can find no better use of their time than to threaten and terrorize anyone who is unfortunate enough not to find shelter for the night.

Speaking of which, Thancred can count three of them. That he is aware of, at least, on his tail. Their gait is not subtle enough to be properly trained, and he can most probably take them, but he has had a tiring day of… cleaning… the streets at Hilda’s behest, and he does not want to deal with this right now.

He makes a left instead of a right at the next intersection, keeping his pace the same. He even, because he is feeling cheeky, closes his eyes and breathes deeply of the chill in the air. He shivers when it nips into his lungs, filling his chest and for a moment making him feel like a gelid corpse. He exhales in a warm huff, bringing his hands up to chuff at them. What he would not do for five minutes in a Thanalan desert right now.

Thankfully, he is fairly close to the Forgotten Knight where he is, and he slips underneath torchlight and past noblemen in hope to dissuade his pursuers from attacking him just yet. He lets out a breath of relief when he makes it to the inn’s snowy threshold, bare fingers closing around the icy doorknob and turning it inwards before he flinches at the touch. He really needs new gloves—proper ones.

He unties his bandana to shake out his hair before slipping it back on, sliding it underneath and out of sight with practiced ease. Then he is jogging downstairs, eager to be free of the doorway and easy pickings.

“There is someone named Ikael Jelaar staying here,” he says to the innkeep, leaning against the bar with feigned ease. No one has come in behind him—yet. “I am a friend of his.”

This earns him a suspicious glance. “Are ye now? And who might ye be?”

Thancred tilts his head. “Thancred, of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn,” he says. “You probably have not heard of us, but—”

Above them, the door gives a tired, bone-weary groan. The innkeep leans forward, unconsciously mirroring Thancred—good—as a smile stretches across his mouth. “I have, actually!” he says. “Yer a friend of Tataru’s?”

Tataru? Oh, right—she has been working some competent devilry while the rest of them have been galloping about like headless chocobos. Thancred nods, acutely aware of the heavy tread of boots above them.

“Tataru Taru, a dear friend and terrifying receptionist,” he says with a charming—and honest—smile. The innkeep laughs. The boots get closer.

“Upstairs, second to last door on the right,” he says, pushing away from Thancred to move to the back of the bar. “Ikael stays here often enough that we keep the room open for him, when we can.”

Thancred is already heading off, ducking into a hallway so he can go upstairs the long way around. He hears a low, feminine voice hail the innkeep, and does not look behind him.

He gives two sharp raps on what should be the correct door, this time pausing to glance around. No one is here save him, but he does not wish to wait around until that is no longer true.

The door opens, and standing there, thankfully, is Ikael. He looks surprised to see Thancred—more at the visit than at being found, Thancred suspects.

“There are at least three people behind me,” he says in lieu of a hello, and Ikael’s face immediately shifts into something serious and alert. He nods once, ears flexing back, and steps aside to let Thancred in.

“Jilted ex-lovers? In Ishgard?” Ikael says as Thancred locks and bolts the door. “My, you do get around.”

Thancred turns, looks at him, and quirks a smile. “Not half as much as you seem to think, I fear,” he says, striding forwards. “Regardless, these lovely new admirers have been tailing me for a little under a bell. Normally, I would deal with them, but,” He sighs, and tugs over a stool by the bed to sit on. “It has been a tiring day, and I cannot be bothered. And you were close by.”

“You did not think it worth a few extra bruises?” Ikael chuckles; a warm sound that lifts Thancred's heart an unexpected fraction. His smile this time is genuine, although brief.

“I think I pulled a muscle,” he admits. Ikael’s face creases in amusement as he begins to reply, and then there is a knock on the door.

Ikael gestures to Thancred as he walks forward. “Do not hide,” he says as he unlocks it.

Curious, Thancred stays where he is. Ikael opens the door a few ilms.

“Can I help you?” he asks.

“We’re looking for a man,” comes the same voice from earlier. “We think he might be with you.”

Ikael opens the door a little more. Thancred can make out a tall, burly figure, and movement behind them. The other one is out in the hall, then.

“It is only me and my friend in here,” Ikael says. Thancred glances at him at that. Interesting choice.

“Your ‘friend,’ doesn’t happen to be the one who spent all day getting his stabbers stuck in _our_ friends, does he?” the one at the door growls. _Ah._ “Because if so, we have… business to settle. And we’d like to settle it without breaking any extra skulls.”

Ikael makes a faux considering noise, tilting his head. His tail sways into a curl behind him, flicking up at the tip. Thancred shelves the image for later so he can taunt him with metaphors of housecats.

“I am sure my friend,” Ikael says, “Would not get his knives stuck in anyone without good reason. If your friends were anything like you, I’d wager the smell alone would warrant it.”

“Why, you mangy little kitten,” the thug snarls, slamming a fist against the door. Ikael doesn’t flinch. “I’ll fuckin’ skin you alive for that. In front of your coward murderer, before I skin him too.”

“He is under my protection,” Ikael says, voice gone flat and steely. He does not budge. “And do not call me that.”

“Step aside, or we’ll beat your fucking head in.” Thancred hears a spitting noise. “ _Kitten_.”

“Hm,” says Ikael neutrally. He steps forwards, and closes the door.

Thancred waits. A second later, he hears the sharp, violent sound of bone cracking, followed by a short scream, and then another crack. A loud thud. A few grunts, and two more thuds.

Ikael opens the door. “Help me drag these downstairs so they can wait for the Temple Knights,” he says.

Thancred makes his way forwards, stepping over the large body that has fallen in the doorway. It is bloodied, unmoving, and no longer has a face.

“That one we can drag into a pit,” Ikael says, cracking his wrists. He casually wipes his hands on his brais.

 _Angry indeed_. Thancred nods, rolling his neck before leaning down and hefting one unconscious body over his shoulder.

~*~

Ikael somehow manages to convince Thancred to stay with him a little while longer, going off on some odd tangent about chakras and muscles and pressure points and… Thancred stops him before his ears fall asleep, giving in. He will keep Ikael company for a few bells, fine. Although he does _not_ wish to be there for the middle-of-the-night crying session.

He does not say this, because Ikael looks tentatively hopeful, and Thancred does not want to ruin the evening with a sharp tongue. _A few bells_ , he tells Ikael firmly, and gets an almost hasty nod.

“Honest—I can help you with that muscle you pulled,” Ikael tells him as he goes over to the bed and picks up a pair of claws and a whetstone that he had apparently set down. “I—know you hate me, but I _can_ be useful.”

The joke falls oddly, with Ikael failing to smile at the end, but Thancred grants him a chuckle nevertheless. Ishgard, perhaps, has chilled both their senses of humour.

“I will consider it. Regardless, you do not have anything for bruises, do you?” Thancred sits back down on the stool. He might as well look himself over; this is the first moment of peace he has gotten all day.

“I do! One moment.”

Thancred unbuckles his shoulder strap as he waits, setting it aside and undoing the clasps of his tunic. He does not miss the lingering glance Ikael casts at his chest when he begins to pull it away, and it elicits a small, amused smile. Some things do not change.

(He had mind enough to notice the way Ikael had quickly looked him over when he had dropped in that one day in the wilderness, no doubt… surprised at his new appearance, but he has not mentioned it. Yet.)

“Here.” Ikael hands him a small tin container. Thancred is briefly reminded of oatmeal, of a cramped room and hesitant, trembling hands. But this is far different. More casual, more sure.

Thancred takes it, popping open the lid. He makes a face at the smell, but nods to Ikael in gratitude. They tend to their respective tasks in relative silence for a few minutes.

“Have you eaten?”

Of course, that is the thing Ikael says to break it. Thancred sighs softly.

“If I had truly skipped dinner when it was still common time for it a few bells ago, then I would have learned far less from my merry jaunt in the wilds than what would be deemed necessary to survive,” he says. He cocks his head. “So yes.”

Ikael does not reply for a moment. “I, um,” he says eventually, “I just—keep a few extra snacks, in case you are hungry. O-or if—or if I’m hungry. Or anyone else I happen to be around. You know.”

“I am sure you do,” Thancred says. He slips his foot back into his boot, tugs it in place. “Is there a point you are trying—and not especially succeeding, by the way—to make?”

Ikael’s mouth pulls to the side. “I,” he says. He looks down. Back up.

“I-I just,” He rubs at his arm. “If you need something. Food or… ointment for bruises, or… company, if no one better is there, I am here. I-if you want. I don’t want you to—”

He stops. His jaw clenches briefly, in restraint. He picks at his sleeve.

“You don’t… need to. Be the only one looking after you, anymore,” he says. “I know you… don’t want me to say things like that. But if you are ever willing to forget that, even for just a moment, I am here.”

Thancred, who has paused, resumes lacing up his boots. He stands.

“I think I will take my leave early,” he says.

Ikael visibly sags. His eyes glitter as they move to track something on the wall, reflecting light off the fire. His hands fall limp.

“Of course,” he says quietly, a touch hoarse.

Thancred moves to the door. He turns the handle, steps forward, and looks back.

“Ikael,” he says, and waits until their gazes meet, “Thank you.”

Then he pushes through, leaving the room.

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> (thancred totally keeps tabs on ikael's location/where he's staying bc he's . a sneky snek hhh)


End file.
